J Bradley: Mom going down

His bellow shook the house. His hips lunged up from the couch. His prick swelled to unbelievable proportions in her mouth and throbbed violently.

Monica squeezed her eyes tightly shut and felt her own orgasm surge through her body at the same time. She moaned and squealed around his pulsing prick as the first jet splashed against the back of her throat and slid down into her belly.

Bruce! Bruce's cum!

The thought blazed through her mind and made her orgasm terribly intense, and she swallowed all the cum Gil poured through his prick into her mouth.

Maybe it was the repetition. This was the third time this morning she had come over – images of her son. It didn't seem quite as shocking and depraved the third time. Besides, as long as she only imagined it, what harm was there – what harm?

"Oh, Christ, Monica!" Gil gasped when it was over, hugging her so tightly she thought her neck would pop. "Baby, you did it! I love you! I love you!"

She nestled between his thighs and gasped against his belly. "You made me a promise, Gil."

"I did! I sure did! And I'll make it again and again if you'll [missing text]."

"Maybe, darling – maybe," she said, smiling up at him, swallowing over and over.

A car horn blared at the front of the house. She pushed back and got up, standing between his legs still, wrapping the housecoat around her waist.

"Damn," Gil said wistfully. He grinned at her. "Now I'm gonna be horny for a whole month, just thinking about right now, waiting for the next time. You shouldn't have done that, baby."

Monica watched him stuff his stiff prick into his pants. He had to bend it to get it through the slit. She licked her lips and swallowed again, trying to get rid of the taste of his cum. She was beginning to think she shouldn't have done it herself.

She stood in the doorway and watched Gil climb into Duke's car. There were two other men in it Gil waved at her. He'd never done it with such fervor before. The car backed out and goosed down the street, and she looked after it until it was out of sight.

A month. A whole month without him.

She moved through the house to the bedroom. She stripped off the housecoat and went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She brushed her teeth while it ran and warmed.

She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing the jut of her firm tits, the side of her red nipples poking from the ends. She straightened and ran her eyes over her curving waist and the flare of her hips. She looked directly at her cunt and saw the teak-brown triangle of pubic hair, the puffy cuntlips, the pinkish separation between them, still glistening with cunt juice.

She shivered slightly. She still didn't know what to feel at having him gone. She was going to get horny. She knew she was. She always did. A healthy woman couldn't go a month without getting horny.

She'd always masturbated before, when it got too bad for her to stand, when she started looking at every man who came toward her.

But this time.

Something was different this time. She felt it clear at the back of her cunt.

The moment with Bruce had made it different.

"Monica darling."

"Vicky!"

The sisters squealed and flung their arms around each other and turned a circle just inside the doorway. Then they straight-armed each other and beamed and looked each other up and down happily.

"Six years, Vicky!"

"I know. Too long, Monica, too long. Christ, I thought I'd never get back home. All the red tape. God, you wouldn't believe it!"

Monica looked at her sister closely. It was like looking into a mirror still. Except for the hair. Vicky's was long. She still had a deep tan, too, although Monica had been working on hers.

"Are you all right, Vicky?" she asked.

Vicky shrugged. "Me? Sure. I'm a hard nut. You know that. You were the softie between us." She detached herself and nosed her way toward the kitchen. "I need a drink. It's a long way from Venezuela to here."

"Sure, Vicky," Monica said, hurrying ahead. She was dimly aware of hopping for Vicky already. Just like old times.

Vicky lounged in a chair and sipped her drink and sighed. "It's good to be back home," she said finally, her voice soft. "I don't know how I ever let Stan talk me into going to Venezuela."

"It's where the oil is, I guess. Gil was just wondering this morning why he spent a month at a time out on the rig."

"Yeah. A couple of crazy bastards, Stan and Gil. And we suffer for it."

"I wish we could have been there when Stan…"

Vicky looked at her sister. She smiled wanly. "You can say it, honey. He's been dead six weeks now. It was hard at first. But he's gone and I'm alive, and you keep on."

"We just couldn't afford to go."

"I know. It doesn't matter." She took another sip and straightened up slightly. "Well, how are you and Gil doing? Really doing, I mean, Monica."

"Oh – you know."

Vicky laughed. "Still don't know how to handle that big fucker, do you! When are you going to learn, twin sister?"

Monica laughed with her. "Maybe I need some help," she said.

The smile slid from her face. She didn't know what had made her say a thing like that. Vicky looked at her curiously, sipping at her drink, watching Monica over the rim of the glass.

"And how's little Brucie these days? He must have grown some since the last time I saw him, huh?"

"And how," Monica said. She couldn't help a little shiver.

"Oh?" Vicky grinned. "Like that, is it? Got his papa's prick? Monica, you little devil, I didn't think you'd ever have it in you!"

Monica flushed all over. "Now, just what do you mean by that?"

"You know what I mean, honey," Vicky said, thrusting up with her hips in a vulgar bump. "I mean, what the hell? With Gil gone a month at a time… no muss, no fuss, no sticky entanglements of the kind I had too many of… makes me wish I'd had Stan punch a boy kid into me a long time ago."

"Vicky!"

Vicky tipped her head back and laughed with a rich, throaty sound. Her eyes sparkled, just the way they always had. She sat in the chair and began to ooze that sultry come-fuck-me manner she always had.

"Tell me, Monica," she said intimately. "You can tell your twin sister. Has he got Gil's big fat prick?"

"What do you know about Gil's big prick?" Monica cried defensively, the old doubts coursing through her again.

"Why, honey – you've told me about it often enough, don't you remember?"

"You tell me, Vicky," Monica said cleverly. "Have you ever let Gil fuck that big prick into you?"

Vicky sat forward. They looked into each other's eyes. It was like the game from years ago.

"You tell me, and I'll tell you," Vicky said.

"You have fucked Bruce!" Vicky cried with delight.

Monica flushed wildly. "I mean no, I hadn't!"

"Well, I haven't let your husband jab his big fat prick into my pussy, either."

Monica looked at the smile toying at the corners of her sister's mouth. This was always a game of honesty between them, no matter how much it had hurt to tell the truth.

But six years had gone by. They were both grown women now, not children playing a game. The rules could have changed. Monica wasn't quite sure. Knowing how Gil and Vicky both were, she would never be quite sure.

"Tell me, then," Vicky said, sitting back again. "How do you know Bruce has a big prick? Have you been peeking at him? Watch him jack off? See him fuck his girl there on the couch one night? How? Oooo, you've got to tell me!"

She shivered all over with a sexual tingle, and Gil's words passed through Monica's mind – how horny Vicky must be after six weeks without Stan to fuck her.

"I…" Monica shrugged, looking away, letting out a little shiver of her own. She looked directly back. "Vicky, damn you, you haven't changed one little bit! All you ever talked or thought about was sex, and you're still doing it!"